And I Feel Fine
by indietronica
Summary: The zombie apocalypse is upon us, and Maura Isles wants to go shopping.
1. Part 1

Jane scans the empty food court for what has to be the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes. She exhales, impatient and worried and irritated with herself for being worried (even though, dear reader, it's completely acceptable for Jane to be worried in this situation).

You see, long story short: it's the end of the world.

Maybe a less brief explanation is required.

A virus broke out 57 days ago, its most noteworthy symptom being its ability to turn normal, healthy homosapiens into blood-thirsty, brain-hungry, not to mention rather unsightly, non-human creatures. Zombies, if we're going to use the z-word.

The virus spread impossibly fast. A good 90% of the world population had either been killed or killed and reanimated by Day 25. The death toll today, Day 57, is probably closer to 97%. There was a reason Jane had made it this long, and it wasn't dumb luck.

Jane and Maura had been slowly but surely making their way down the eastern seaboard toward since Day 42. Maura wants to see what remains of the CDC in Atlanta, to see if she can help.

So, yes, the entire zombie aspect of her current reality is pretty concerning. However, presently, what has Jane Rizzoli biting her lip and picking at her cuticles is the fact that Maura was supposed to meet her in the center of this food court a good five minutes ago, yet she was nowhere to be seen.

They had split up an hour ago to scavenge the mall for supplies – food, water, ammo – anything that they could possibly use or barter with. Jane had taken the right wing of stores, and Maura the left.

As far as Jane was concerned, the trip had been a bust. Maura had insisted upon going, and Jane had only agreed because, well, there i_s_ a Bass Pro Shop inside this mall. They'd scored some ammo there before they split up, sure, but most of the good stuff had been taken already. Besides that, there weren't many items of post-apocalyptic value to be found in shopping malls. Yes, believe it or not, survivors are generally more interested in canned foods and first aid supplies, and less so in scented soaps and expensive jeans.

But Maura'd had her heart set on scavenging a mall. And she'd been pretty glum lately, Jane had to admit. She'd ceased offering outrageous hypotheses as to the origin of the super-virus, for example. Even more concerning, she hadn't attempted to make any zombie jokes in days. ("Why did the zombie lose the lawsuit?" "Maura, no, please..." "He didn't have a leg to stand on!") Visiting the mall was the first thing she'd been enthusiastic about in weeks.

Keeping high morale in these kinds of situations is crucial, Jane knows, so she decided that letting Maura loot a mall was best. _Letting Maura loot a mall was best._ Jane almost laughs.

The mall is quiet, seemingly empty, and very dim. There hasn't been reliable power since Day 10, and there hasn't been _any _power since Day 16. (Another reason they're headed south; without power, they'd never survive a winter in Boston.) The only light comes from the food court skylights, which have been obstructed by the bodies scattered on the roof. Jane doesn't really want to even ponder that one. At all.

The food court sits square in the middle of the mall, and in the middle of that, a show car. A bright yellow Hummer. "ENTER TO WIN!" reads the display to its right. Paragraphs of fine print underline it. A clear plastic box holds entry slips, eagerly filled out and folded up by hundreds of hopeful people before shit hit the fan.

Jane sits cross-legged on the roof of the vehicle, eating the can of chicken noodle soup she'd been holding onto since Day 46, drinking a bottle of Diet Coke she'd spent four full minutes crowbarring a food court vending machine for. She takes another swig, attempts to disregard to its unpleasant warmth, and plays her final words to Maura over in her head. They had definitely decided on meeting back here in _one _hour.

So where the hell is she?

Jane has two options: search, or wait.

How long can she wait, though? What if Maura is being attacked by zombies right now, three stores down? Jane tenses up at the thought, the mental image, and drops her plastic spork into her near-empty soup can.

"Five more minutes, Maura," Jane decides, rubbing her forehead.

A scratching noise. Sudden. Unwelcome. Jane is on her feet, gun drawn, eyes narrowed, instantaneously. She's stock still, attempting to detect any motion within her view, like trying to catch an elusive fly in your kitchen. Nothing moves. She pivots around on the roof of the H3, scanning all sides of the food court.

This mall is too empty.

And then, another noise. Squeaking wheels. Jane turns around and there's Maura, rounding the corner of the food court and cutting through the Cinnabon. She's riding on the back of a shopping cart – this is a mall; where the hell did she get a shopping cart? – pushing off the ground periodically to maintain her momentum.

"Maura!" Jane hisses. She holsters her gun and lowers herself from the top of the Hummer. Maura continues with her kick, hop, roll routine, drawing closer and closer, seemingly unaffected by the critical look Jane is attempting to pin her with. When Maura finally comes to a halt a few feet away, Jane is assaulted by her figure's many new facets.

"What..."

The shopping cart, which has rolled to a stop between them, is piled high with clothing and a strange assortment of other items, their eccentricity highlighted best by the presence of a sword and an upside-down knight's helmet with a bag of chocolate truffles sitting inside of it.

Maura has changed from her torn jeans and silky, blood-stained blouse into something far more Lara Croft-esque. A white, skin-tight camisole and some sort of beige tights-and-cargo-pants hybrid. Her M4 is slung over her shoulder.

She looks, well, damn good. Objectively speaking.

"Uh," is all that Jane can initially muster. She's suddenly incapable of scolding Maura for her tardiness.

"Success!" Maura exclaims. "While scavenging, I decided to reevaluate my attire. I found it entirely inappropriate. So I decided to pick up a few new things."

"That's... great."

"Look!" Maura is still grinning as she props one foot against the side of the Hummer to show off a brand new pair of Nike's. "Much more sensible. And they have wings on the laces. Look!"

"You're certainly in a better mood." Jane smirks and leans back against the side of the Hummer.

"You like?" Maura does a half-twirl, showing off the outfit Jane has already seen (and yes, likes). She continues without allowing Jane a chance to answer. "I picked up some things for you, too, Jane. We can be practical _and _stylish, you know. Hopefully you haven't lost too much weight since our food supply has diminished, or else these might be a little baggy."

She's now sifting through the basket, draping shirts and pants over its metal edges.

"Yeah, yikes. God forbid my malnutrition affect how well these stolen clothes fit!"

Maura chuckles and Jane shakes her head, adding, "So this was your plan? You wanted to come here to go shopping?"

Maura stops her rifling and looks hurt. "Well, my need for new apparel was_ part_ of the reason I wanted to visit."

"I would hardly call 'new attire' a necessity right now, Maura. And besides, you know we can't haul all of this stuff around with us." Which is entirely true. As they make their way down the eastern seaboard, hopping from one stolen car to another, and from one empty town to the next, often forced to walk for miles, Jane and Maura can't afford to carry around and more than they absolutely have to.

Maura maintains that hurt look and Jane sighs. In this situation, Maura is kind of like a kid in a candy store here, and Jane is the one tugging her arm, dragging her out empty-handed. She feels, well, _bad._

After all, Maura's been through a lot in the past 57 days. Jane doesn't even want to think about everything with her house and her mom and the morgue. Jane hates to be the one to take anything away from her, especially now. Maura deserves a bag of malted milk balls and gummy bears.

"Never mind, just – what else did you pick up?"

"Well, I got some shampoos and soaps, and I found this backpack still attached to a corpse. It has a few boxes of pasta and three or four cans of vegetables in it..."

"Nice!" Jane takes the bag from Maura's hands and starts unzipping it.

"And, oh! There's a Medieval Times Restaurant here. Did you know that?" Maura has apparently recovered from Jane's cynicism. She picks up the sword that had caught Jane's attention earlier. "Melee weapon!" She unsheathes it and makes a few practice slices through the air.

"Whoa there, Lancelot," Jane steps back, "I like having all of my limbs."

Maura grins, attaching the sheath to her belt.

"You also plan on wearing the helmet?"

"Oh, no. I just wanted to show you how historically inaccurate it is."

"Oh. Great."

"But before I do that – "

Jane sighs dramatically.

" – look what I found at Sears!"

Maura retrieves, oh, god, a _chainsaw_ from the bottom rack of the cart. She holds it up for Jane to see, grinning widely. Practically glowing, really. It's moderately worrisome.

And then she's cranking it up, and it's rumbling to life, loud and unchecked, echoing through the food court.

"Maura!" Jane can't help but shout. As far as she is concerned, Maura is begging for the attention of the zombies sure to be hiding out in the dark corners of the mall. "_Shhhh!_"

Maura flicks off the chainsaw. She looks genuinely confused. "I wanted to demonstrate its functionality."

"By attracting a horde?"

"No!" Maura's eyebrows jump up. "I thought you said this mall was empty."

"I said that it _appears _to be _relatively_ empty. That doesn't mean we should take any chances. Let's just keep it down, okay? Everything echos in here."

Maura nods apologetically, placing the chainsaw back on the bottom rack.

Suddenly, the scratching noise from before Maura's arrival returns. Jane has both of her Glocks cocked in a split second. Maura's aiming her M4 in just as little time. They survey the food court, line of fire guided by line of vision. Jane pauses to give Maura an I-told-you look. Maura rolls her eyes.

Jane inches around to the other side of the car, gun drawn. The noise persists, and Jane realizes that it's now coming from somewhere beneath the Hummer. Without looking away, she retrieves a flashlight from her bag and drops into a squat, peering into the narrow space between the vehicle and the asphalt.

Beat.

"Oh." Her brow relaxes, shoulders drop.

"What is it?" Maura is still standing a few yards away, cautiously curious.

Jane slowly lowers her gun. "It's a... puppy."

"Oh!" Maura exclaims as she scurries up to crouch at Jane's left, "Is it infected?"

"Doesn't look like it." The scrap of an animal steps back warily when Jane reaches out one hand to balance herself. What could be mistaken for a hopeful wag begins in its tail.

"No, it doesn't." Maura agrees, leaning forward to rest on her knees. "Eight to ten weeks old. Male. Terrier mix. Like Jo Friday, Jane."

"Yeah." Jane smiles. The dog tilts his head at the two of them, far too docile to be infected. He leans down to nuzzle his tiny head into one of his paws, and damn it. This weakness of hers is Korsak's fault, but Jane's as good as gone.

"There's a pet store a ways down. He might have been living there. I wonder where his mother is. At this age, he should still be nursing."

As if on cue: a growl. Chillingly close. And then, it's stop-motion: Jane. Retrieve gun. Swivel left, stand, aim. And then shoot, right? Of course. But she doesn't.

A 100-pound, horrifically infected canine is crouching just a few feet in front of her. Its ribs are exposed, and pieces of flesh hang from its torso. It bears teeth and deteriorating gums inside a dislocated jaw. The virus's effects are still gut-wrenching to Jane, but she's gotten better at brushing off the waves of nausea by now.

The dog sits back into a pre-pounce position.

Jane's finger hesitates around the trigger because she's not the one in danger; Maura is. Maura is still crouching between Jane and the dog, and Maura is the one that the animal is eying. And it's Jane's fault. She allowed their vulnerability, and she allows it again when she's taken with guilt over that fact. But not for long.

"Stay down!" Jane steps and swiftly throws a hand over Maura, extending her gun, keeping her out of the line of fire as she aims.

The second shot that she takes doesn't miss – of course not; that would have been too much – and the animalis stopped mid-leap, almost poetically. It drops to the tile with a thump. The perfunctory force exerted by planet Earth provides its body with a half-bounce.

Jane's ears are ringing, and then she hears Maura gasp. She realizes almost instantly that it isn't because she'd turned around to find the dog's crumpled body at her feet, but because of that first bullet. That _fucking_ first bullet hit the front bumper of the H3.

They're both frozen, staring at the vehicle in front of them, willing it to remain silent. That wretched puppy whimpers from its place under the car.

One second, two seconds, three...

The car is still quiet. Jane finally sighs, relaxing her shoulders. She even manages a breathy laugh of relief. "It's dead," she turns to Maura, reassuring them both as she tucks away her gun, "someone probably robbed its battery way back – "

_BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEP._

It's so loud. _So _loud. Jane has heard quieter sonic booms. If Satan had a car, this is the noise its alarm would make.

"Oh, no." Maura grimaces, backing away from the source of the offensive noise.

"Really?" Jane cries, throwing up her hands. "_Really?_"

"Oh, no."

"_Really?_" Jane removes her gun from its holster yet again begins pistol-whipping the hood. "Shit! _Shit!_"

"Jane – "

As Jane proceeds to make the car very sorry for what it has done, she becomes vaguely aware of Maura transferring things from her cart of goodies to her backpack, reloading her gun, tying back her hair. She's half-yelling something about time intervals and a "small window of opportunity" and the fatal consequences of delayed responses.

And then comes another noise: a collective groan of hunger, combined with the grind of broken bones, the gurgling internal organs – all wrongly exposed. The edges of Jane's vision come to life with the undead. There's some irony in there somewhere. Maura's cries of "Jane!" pull her back.

_"Jane!_ I think we should leave now! _Now!_"

Jane is beside her, procuring rounds of ammunition from the shopping cart before Maura can even finish the exclamation.

"Which way?"

"Irrelevant."

"_What?_" She hates the shrill tone that has found its way into her voice box, but nothing is ever irrelevant to Maura. So in this case, irrelevant could be her way of saying "we're hopelessly fucked."

"Well, all of the department stores have exits – we're at the center of the mall, equidistant from almost all of them – "

"Maura!"

"Just run!" Maura shoves her into action and they start the long sprint toward Macy's.

Then, suddenly, they're everywhere. Zombies are pouring out of candy shops and department stores, stumbling down powerless escalators. Some of them don't even bother; they drop from the second floor, bones crunching as their bodies make contact with the cold linoleum.

Jane looks over her shoulder and slows her pace as a potentially disastrous idea forms in her brain.

"Wait – Maura! Maura!" Maura turns around, a few yards ahead of her now. She slows and looks at Jane worriedly, like she can see the wheels turning in her mind.

"We can take the Hummer!"

"_What?_" It's Maura turn to be shrill. She swiftly assassinates the two zombies nearest to them before turning back around to face her friend, who has stopped completely.

"It's a show car! The keys are probably right there, in the ignition. There are too many of these things," Jane makes a sweeping motion with her arms, indicating the zombie masses. "We won't be able to outrun them, or kill them all, and the alarm is just drawing more in from the outside. We should take the Hummer."

Maura tilts her head, "That sounds like a very dangerous idea. Not to mention a terrible one."

Probably because it _is _a very dangerous idea. And there's a good chance that it's also a terrible one.

"So is running and shooting until we pass out or use up all our ammo," Jane counters.

Zombies are closing in around them. That window Maura was talking about is rapidly sliding shut. One thing this duo knows is that they can't remain where they stand in the middle of the mall for much longer.

Maura bites her lip, gesticulates exasperatedly, and finally says, "let's _go,_ then!"

Jane's exhale is a half growl, and her adjunct grin is – there's no other word – _devilish_. Her gun clicks in her hands. "Well, let's _go_, then."

They turn back to face the location from which they had just fled. Back to the H3 and the lost puppy and the hellish mob of brain-hungry reanimated.

And they go.


	2. Part 2

**A/N**: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the first part of _And I Feel Fine_! I really appreciate it. This is the second half. Part 2 of 2. I certainly enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

* * *

><p>It seems as though the number of zombies has multiplied again, and suddenly, they're engulfed in a sea of dead, pallid skin, suffocated by the stench of its slow decay. But they don't stop. Instead, they become machines, locking on to target after target, shooting, killing, reloading, killing. But Maura, especially. The unmatched strength and automation of her motions could captivate Jane if she allowed it to. But she doesn't.<em> Focus, Rizzoli.<em>

And then they're in sync. They safeguard each other, exercising just the right amount of caution to keep themselves moving. The throngs aren't thinning, though; every kill is replaced in a matter of seconds, but those seconds are_ just _enough to allow them to make their way through the crowd, tile by tile. It's always about things being _just_ enough_. Just_ quick enough, just quiet enough. These days, "enough" is crucial, but more than enough is very hard to come by.

About the same time as she realizes how far in they are, how many infected separate them from the exits and how many separate them from the street Humvee, Jane hears Maura scream, "grenade!"

And then she hears the blast, feels the heat on her back, the brush of her hair against her shoulders. She doesn't have to turn to survey the damage; she can see the bodies flying in her mind.

It does a lot to alleviate their struggle for the moment – they can focus solely on the space in front of them, separating them from the vehicle. Another grenade in that direction would also be nice, but post-detonation action would involve navigating around a pile of flaming bodies, making the effort absolutely counterproductive.

It takes the discovery of at least four decapitated bodies for Jane to recognize that Maura's gun has been slung behind her. She's begun beheading these bastards with that fucking Medieval Times sword.

The sight is...empowering? Arousing?

Wait, what?

If this weren't a life or death situation, Jane would laugh. Instead, she rapidly fires off another round. She goes to reload and there they are at the epicenter. The alarm is so loud. Jane can't hear herself think. She can't hear the moaning, the shattering, Maura's medieval warrior princess tennis grunting... The whole world is just _BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEP. BEEE – _

Jane backs up against the driver's side door, pressing her shoulders against the cool yellow exterior of the Hummer. She resumes playing executioner, waiting for a lull that would allow her to turn around and get in the car. She quickly realizes said lull won't arrive until long after she runs out of ammunition.

Maura's hoarse voice overtakes the white noise of the fight for a split second.

"Find the keys!"

Jane does a double take. Leave Maura out here alone? You would be hesitant, too. But as Jane considers this, Maura drives the stained blade of her sword through one zombie's head, lets it go, and swings her gun around from behind her, back into her hands. She then proceeds to – Jane believes the most scientifically accurate phrase is – "gives 'em hell."

It's pretty reassuring.

Jane turns and breaks the driver's side window, reaches through – "fuck!" – the glass slicing her arm. She unlocks the door from the inside and slides into the vehicle, throws open the glove box. A ridiculous number of papers and manuals and certificates spills out. After tossing aside the paper equivalent of a small rainforest, Jane's hands wrap around a distinctly bulging envelope.

"Please," Jane tears open the envelope and jams the key she finds into the ignition. She can almost hear the angels singing as the car alarm shuts off and the engine roars to life.

Jane unlocks the doors, "Get in!"

Maura flings open the side door behind the driver's seat. Jane props her gun up in the window and starts shooting, covering Maura's ass while she climbs in.

"Drive!"

So she does, finding the Hummer to be extremely effective in plowing through the throngs of undead. Jane had been right – there was no way this many had been hiding solely within the confines of the shopping center; the alarm had been drawing scores from even outside the mall.

They're being slowed by the growing number of zombies that are latching onto the Hummer, and their low speed is just intensifying the problem. Deteriorating arms were reaching through the broken window, clawing at Jane. She releases one of the hands she'd been using to steer with and retrieves her knife, stabbing at every sickly limb attempting to get inside the Hummer. Still, more and more arms reached through from the mob surrounding the car, like the horde itself had arms instead of the individual creatures.

They were moving slower and slower.

"Maura..."A plea.

"I've got it," and then, "grenade!"

Another explosion. Jane tries to look over her right shoulder, to survey the damage, but her view is obstructed by Maura's cleavage, inches from her face.

"What – what are you – "

Maura is yanking at the sunroof, finally managing to pry it open and slide her torso through. Her hips finding their place in close proximity to Jane's face.

"Oh, okay, then."

And then, dozens are dropping in front of them, allowing the Hummer to pick up speed again as it rolls over the bodies.

Just below all the chaos and its noise, Jane becomes aware of something pre-apocalyptic. Familiar and comforting. A guitar riff.

It's the car radio.

"_I can't stand it. I know you planned it – _"

Maura: "Grenade!"

Explosion.

"_I got this fucking thorn in my side,_"

There are still radio stations play music?

"_I'm telling ya'll – _"

Jane flicks the dial in one motion. _Vol: max._

"_It's sabotage!_"

Jane screams.

Maura is fucking annihilating, holding down the trigger, swiveling, fucking _sprinkler-ing_, clearing a path for them. And it's all sensation. Bass wracking the car. Rolling over bodies. Pulse in ears. _Fuck_.

They're maybe a hundred yards from the exit now. Jane squeezes the wheel, anticipating the impact of the doors.

Maura is still poking out of the sunroof, and twenty yards closer to the door, Jane realizes that she's turned around, shooting behind them, throwing grenades, completely oblivious to the fact that they are about to have a serious run-in with some metal and glass.

"Maura, get down!" Jane grabs one of her legs and tugs, but Maura doesn't move.

"What? Jane? I can't hear – what are you doing?"

One thing Jane knows is that there is no way in hell that Maura Isles is going to kick _this m_uch zombie ass only to be taken out by a sliding glass door.

With one last stomp on the gas pedal, one turn of the cruise control switch, Jane twists around and grabs Maura's hips, yanking her down through the opening in the roof and throwing the two of them into the back seat.

The force of the impact is more than colossal – ineffable – and everything seems to slow down. Maura has some explanation for this frame-by-frame processing, having to do with adrenal glands and cognitive neurons misfiring. But in this moment, Jane doesn't consider that, or anything else really; not the zombies falling away, the glass shards flying by... none of the above. Nope. For whatever reason, a reason that Jane doesn't even really want to think about, all that Jane _can _think about is the fact that she's straddling Maura's hips.

And then they're free. Cloud-filtered sunlight is shining down on them. It's like they've just left the theater after a movie.

The zombie population outside is considerably less dense. The H3 relaxes over level asphalt instead of piled bodies.

Jane quickly peels herself off of Maura and reclaims the steering wheel. She swerves to avoid crashing into an overturned VW Bug.

Maura lets out a delayed "ouch."

"_... DJ-ing your fight for survival since Day 37! No commercial breaks. Ever. Only the most adrenaline-release-provoking hits. Post-'Poc Pirate Radio. Your number one for everything, because for all we know, we're the only station in existence right now..._"

"Thanks." Maura groans as she climbs into the passenger seat.

"Don't mention it."

"_Welcome to the jungle..._"

Maura rolls down her window and spits. Blood, Jane assumes, as she turns out of the mall parking lot.

"Are you okay?"

"Are _you _okay?"

Maura takes in Jane's disheveled appearance and starts laughing.

"Maura!" Jane laughs, failing to maintain a mock serious expression. "I am in _pain," _she scolds, still grinning. "I almost died, like, twelve times just now. I'm injured. I don't think you should be laughing at me."

"You have pieces of glass in your hair," Maura giggles.

"Yeah, I'm _pretty _sure you're not supposed to laugh at that either."

"Hold still." The lithe fingers that were wrapped around a warm gun just moments ago are now delicately pulling shards from Jane's dark mess of a ponytail.

Jane purses her lips. "I've also got a cut on my arm that probably needs sewing up, Dr. Isles."

Maura is still plucking glass when she says, "too bad we didn't find any alcohol."

Jane laughs, turning onto the interstate. "Yeah," she agrees, though she's unsure as to whether or not they mean the same thing. "Too bad."

They settle back into a relieving silence. Jane's heart is still beating in her ears, and she still isn't quite sure about what just happened back there, but she decides not to think about it.

And then? A yelp.

Something yelps.

No, _it _yelps. It is in the back seat, and it has just yelped.

Jane hits the breaks, coming to a full stop in the middle of the empty highway. She mutes the radio and turns to face Maura, attempting her most vehement glare. Maura, in turn, pulls her most innocent face.

"What was that?" Jane asks, even though, of course, she knows exactly what_ that_ was.

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad!" Jane says in a tone that is generally used to express anger. She shuts her eyes, inhales, exhales. "I'm just... _upset _that you didn't tell me that you decided to... adopt him. I mean, we could have picked up some puppy chow while we were out, had you told me." Maura smiles cautiously. This is both her and Korsak's fault. A dog is the very last thing they need right now, but she really can't bring herself to be angry. Really, what did she expect for Maura to do? Leave him?

Jane cranes her neck to look behind her. Maura's backpack is open. Amongst spilled boxes of ammo and food cans and rags and much else is the dog, that hopeful tail-wag undeniable.

Jane smirks. Maura has gone back to giving her that look. The same look she used to give when Jane would call her out on remembering to buy wine but "forgetting" to pick up beer from the supermarket. Jane stares at the road ahead of them, back at the dog, then back at Maura, and finally sighs.

"Okay, okay. One pair of puppy dog eyes is enough," Jane chuckles and puts the car back in motion. "Relax; I'm not gonna throw him out."

Maura smiles, unabashed. She reaches back to pick up the dog and place him in her lap.

"But he's not getting any of my food. His sustenance is coming out of your backpack and your backpack only."

"Uh-huh." Maura nods absently, petting the dog, who has settled over her legs.

"And for future reference, if you sneak a turtle on board, I _will _throw it out."

Maura tilts her head and asks, "When you say 'turtle,' do – "

"_Tortoise._ Excuse me. No _tortoises_. Actually, no turtles, either. No more animals at all, Maura."

Their raillery continues for miles and miles. They stop once because it turns out Jane's arm _does _need sewing up. They stop again to siphon gas from a cluster of abandoned vehicles. They stop numerous other times because apparently their new pet has a very small bladder. And then it's dark and starry out and they're driving down the east coast.

Around 10 PM, according to the Hummer's digital display, Maura becomes convinced that Jane is going to fall asleep at the wheel (and okay, Jane concedes that her eyelids had been getting a little heavy, but she'd thought her yawn-stifling had been pretty convincing). They decide to pull over and sleep for a few hours. Back on the road by dawn at the latest.

The dog, which Maura has named Bass II, remains asleep on the floor between Maura's feet, wholly unaffected by their halted travel plans.

Jane duct tapes over the broken driver's side window and decides it would still best if they both slept in the back seat. Maura agrees.

Maura also decides that they should sleep side by side to maximize comfort, zombie protection, and body heat distribution. Jane agrees.

So that's how they end up spooning, just to be clear. It was decided upon by, ahem, a _doctor_ as the most scientifically logical sleeping position.

Logic. Efficiency. Body heat distribution. Yet Jane is more awake now than she has been in days. It's not an uncomfortable sort of hypersensitivity, but instead, a warm feeling of contentment, mixed with the cool alertness that comes with this kind of close contact. Plus the crippling fear that she smells worse than Maura. Which is actually likely, Jane realizes, because Maura actually smells really good.

Maura hums suddenly, apparently not as asleep as Jane had previously thought. "Jane?" She whispers, tender and wary.

Jane licks her lips, feeling her own expression soften further at Maura's tone and her still-closed eyes. "Yeah, Maur?"

There's a long pause. Maura inhales deeply. Jane readjusts her arm, slung around Maura's waist. She prepares for the words about to leave her friend's pretty mouth, whichever words they may be.

"What..." Maura swallows. God, could she drag this out any longer? "What did the zombie groom say to his zombie bride at their wedding?"

Jane laughs sharply, resisting the urge to give her a shove. Maura smiles, her eyelids fluttering open.

"I didn't even get to the funny part yet."

"Sorry, sorry." Jane shakes her head, wondering if Maura had just intentionally psyched her out, or if she had really just decided a serious, almost _sultry_ tone was the best to use to reprise her role as a comedian.

Maura repeats, "What did the zombie groom say to his zombie bride at their wedding?"

Jane rolls her eyes, smirking, "I don't know. What?"

"'You look drop-dead gorgeous.'"

Jane rubs her tired eyes, laughing as she takes in Maura's smug expression.

"That was a good one."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Jane humors. "You know, if I manage to survive your bad jokes, I think I'm in the clear."

"Very funny."

"Bad zombie jokes? Yikes. Actual zombies? No problem."

"Ha ha ha." Maura smiles softly as she shifts in Jane's arms, sinking back into her. "Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight, Maura." Jane murmurs into her ear.

Maura is asleep in minutes, breath gone shallow, shoulders limp. Jane allows her hands to search out Maura's own.

Some nights, while Maura sleeps and Jane is keeping watch, her thoughts go dark and horrid, ruled by _97% _and the belief that the two of them are just delaying the inevitable.

But other nights, nights like these, which are few and far between but much more poignant, things seem almost okay. After all, she's got Maura.

It's the zombie apocalypse. Shit has hit the fan. Everything has gone to hell.

_But I've got Maura._

And with that thought, the most comforting thought she's had in in 57 days, Jane falls asleep holding Maura's hand.


End file.
